


watch the sky

by QuietlyImplode



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of trauma, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Disney References, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov-centric, Natasha gets Loki'd in the Avengers not Clint, Panic Attacks, Red Room (Marvel), References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, The Avengers Are Good Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:21:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Natasha is the one hit with Loki's staff."You don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in? You know what it's like to be unmade?" she scoffs.  "Of course you don't."
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 17
Kudos: 65





	watch the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Natasha is the one hit with Loki's staff. A prompt from the Be Compromised - Valentine's Mini Promptathon 2021 by InkVoices who asked - What if Loki uses the spear to take Natasha instead of Clint? 
> 
> It wouldn't leave me alone, and so this is neither Valentine's Day-ey, not fluffy and gets fairly dark in sections. The aftermath of mind control is not pretty but especially for someone who's mind has already been taken out and play with before. Please see above warnings, and as always let me know if more needs to go in.

1/

Clint’s on a mission in the Ukraine and she’s stuck watching a glowing cube with Selvig poking it and getting zapped. She’s been in situations where things just keep escalating but this is something else. It feels like something _more_.

The place is being evacuated and she’s waiting for Fury to get here. After Clint’s assessment of Thor, she gets why everyone is on high alert, outer-space and aliens seem ridiculous but seeing this, first hand, is actually more stressful than Clint described. She wishes he were here.

Fury blusters in and calls her down, she states the obvious; before everything goes to shit. 

She shoots at the hostile and covers Fury but she’s not quick enough. She sees shield agents go down and flashes of blue, she takes one last shot before... before.. 

There’s a voice in her head and a silence in her mind. She’s been here before.. 

Her thoughts stagnate.

Her breath slows. 

Theres a buzzing in her brain. 

_Follow._

_Obey._

She picks up her gun and it feels familiar; safe. 

_Obey._

_Shoot._

There’s no voluntary movement. 

She’s under control.

The feeling is familiar.

 _Obey_ the buzz commands. 

She follows it.

.

Loki, she learns. The buzz is Loki. It invades her mind and she responds without question. She’s detached from her body as it responds to questions. 

It hurts.

It taunts her, makes her talk. 

**Stop**. She yells at herself.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

But she can’t.

Analytical mind meets tactical and she’s giving him everything. 

Captain Rogers.

Stark.

Fury.

 **Traitor** , her brain supplies beneath the buzz.

And then she’s telling him about Barton. Clint. She explains about his history, his father, his brother, his shame and fear and the way to best him. The way she would. 

With her, she says. 

By using her, her feelings, her body, her mind. He’ll do anything to save her. 

She tells him this like she’s reciting a poetry, guarded secrets she’d never told anyone laid bare for this monster to use at will. 

Bile rises in her throat.

Loki smiles.

He seems to know what this particular piece of information has cost her.

Tells her she’s a good girl and commands her to guard Selvig. 

She does. 

She does everything he commands. 

Beneath the buzz, there is a fear. 

Last time, she kept a part of herself.

She can’t see a way back now, and it’s getting stronger. 

.

She pilots a plane to the helicarrier, infiltrates easily and follows the plan that’s been put in her head. It’s easy to follow. 

She has no voluntary movement. 

She’s been here before. If only she could remember how.

If only she could remember a lot of things. 

She commands like she's a solider and not a spy and sends grenades flying which disrupts the second engine.

She’s on auto pilot.

Nothing registers. 

She’s controlled. 

They’re coming for her. 

She sets charges and runs away to detonate. Job done. Exfiltrate. 

Shoots to kill.

Until.

The first punch sends her flying, no one should get this close. The buzzing in her head intensifies, and the underlying feeling of _win at all costs_ is consuming. She punches, kicks, and uses her body weight to throw her attacker, fists fly and she grabs her knife, slashing and aiming for vulnerable body parts, finally getting the upper hand when she presses blade to neck. Pain shoots up her arm and her fingers drop the knife, looking down she sees a knee come up; unable to do anything to stop it, she turns her head protecting her face, and then.. 

It stops. 

The buzzing, the commands and control of her body stops. It feels like the first breath of air she's had in days, and it takes all the energy she has to look up. 

_"Clint?"_

The look of hostility on his face is incongruent to his usual warmth towards her, and she doesn't quite understand as he grabs her head and pushes it into the railing. She's out before her body hits the ground.

.

Waking is slow. Her head is buzzing, white hot sears push through her eyes and it hurts. She sees movement on her right and recognises Clint. He's talking, softly, holding her hand. Her hands are wrapped in cuffs and panic jolts her into wakedness. 

"You're alright, you're gonna be alright." He placates. 

She's not, she needs to flush him out, tries to tell Clint as such, wants to pour bleach into her head and get rid of the scouring memories that are breaking through. 

"You've got to level out," he says, taking the cuff off seeing her distress, "It's gonna take time."

She wants to spit. Anger welling within her. 

"You don't understand. Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in? You know what it's like to be unmade?" she scoffs. "Of course you don't."

She sees the hurt play across his face before he schools it back. She takes a deep breath. This isn't his fault. 

"Why am I back? How'd you get him out?" she asks tentatively. Is he coming back? is what she really wants to know.

Clint smiles. "Cognitive re-calibration. I hit you really hard in the head."

She doesn't have it in her to smile back, but says thank you all the same. It hits her like a ton of bricks that she's in the helicarrier she just tried to take over, the death, the destruction, the..

"How many agents did I-?" she blurts, looking him squarely in the eye. 

Clint shakes his head, and grabs her arm hard, as though he really wants her to think on his words. "Don't." He says, forcefully. "Don't do that to yourself, Tasha. This is Loki. This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."

She reads between the lines, "He got away didn't he?"

Clint looks up, "Yeah. Any ideas where?"

Natasha closes her eyes, but all she can see is black. All she can feel is the faint buzz and the need to follow the command. She shakes her head, "Didn't need to know. Didn't ask. He's gonna make his play soon though. Today." It's an assumption that she's sure of, Loki's endgame, it's coming.

Clint nods, "We gotta stop him." 

"We? Who's we, Clint? I'm a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war."

Clint shrugs, "I don't know, whoever is left?" His unerring faith in people and teams is frustrating, how could they possibly win against this? But; to make sure it doesn't happen again? To get the rest of Loki out of her head? That she could possibly get on board with. 

"Well, if I put a bullet in Loki's brain, I think I would sleep better, I suppose."

Clint looks over and brushes hair from her face, it takes all her not to flinch away. 

"I've been compromised." The fact hangs as she continues, wanting to get the words out, "I got red in my ledger, more now. I'd like to wipe it out, and if Loki is the way to do this, I'm with you."

2/

The war and the Battle of New York comes and goes, they're left with a world to clean up and survivors guilt that burns them all to their core.

Coulson is dead. 

As they're eating together, no one says much of anything. Stark quips and Rogers rolls his eyes, and Clint can't keep his eyes off her. He maintains a point of contact, as if to ground her and keep her here, like he knows exactly what she's going to do next.  
What she's planning to do next. 

Coulson is dead.

There's a state of disaster called, and the army arrives. Rogers takes command and the clean up is ordered. There's no telling how many lives are lost and her tally just adds. Loki is restrained and Thor makes promises of containment. He comments how he can't go home yet, and Banner questions studying the tesseract which makes Stark's eyes light up in glee. A month they say. 

Stark offers them shelter for the night, but they all part ways, new friendships formed and alliances built. 

Clint doesn't leave her side. He takes her out of the city and they don't talk on the ride. He tries to tell a story about Coulson and the Cellist but his voice breaks and he doesn’t say anything else.

Grief pulls at her every time she thinks of Coulson and the role she had in his death, but the violation of her body and mind are the thoughts she perseverates on more.

She knows where they are going and tries to rest but every time her eyes close, there is a buzzing in the back of her head; snapping her eyes open and taking her breath away. 

She asks to drive when they stop for gas, and takes the wheel. Clint puts his legs up and music that Coulson loved on and she speeds through the night. 

They arrive in the cabin and set it up for living, turn on the generators and water. 

Clint crashes on the couch and she sighs at his ease, he motions for her to lay with him and she does but the feeling of impending doom makes her hypervigilant. 

When she's sure he's out, she grabs her bag, leaves a note with one word and leaves. 

.

It takes her 2 days to get to St. Jerome in Montreal. She has not slept, except when her traitorous body gives out on her, and contends that she may be running on hallucinations and caffeine. 

She can't remember when she last ate, maybe shawarma with the others, and has to remember to hydrate. She's dyed her hair brown in gas station bathroom, and now has it up in a ponytail, changing appearances to her as natural as breathing.

Spycraft 101. 

She has nowhere else to go except the hideaway that Clint knows of, but if she is right, then he won't think to come here. He'll think she's gone further afield and it's exactly what she wants. Wasn't it him that said she needed to level out? That's exactly what she's doing. And to do it she needs to be alone. Alone protects her, alone is what she deserves.

Once she's here she's lost. She doesn't know what to do with herself. She's been running on adrenaline since the battle and now it's gone. It leaves her shaky and breathless.  
She heads to the shower to try and drown out her thoughts, now running wild and the lead up to the battle playing on repeat in her mind. The nothingness that had come when the scepter had hit her chest, the bullets flying towards co-workers and the word _traitor_ on repeat. The voice sounds suspiciously like Coulson. 

The shower has long gone cold when she registers herself, lost in time in a world of her own. Wrapping a towel around herself, she stands still in the bathroom, hoping the water will dry without her having to move her limbs. They feel like lead and she slides down the bathroom tiles until her legs are out in front of her and her back against the wall. The towel is loosely held and the water dripping off her hair gives her something to count, just like she used to. 

. 

There's a ringing that she can't place, it breaks her reverie and she becomes aware. Her skin is dry and the coldness of the bathroom floor is seeping into her bones. The towel has dropped and she's naked on the floor, self preservation at it's worst she muses before rolling over onto her hands and knees, sitting back onto her heels and then standing on shaky legs. Intermittent tremors run through her body, she ignores it, and puts on shorts and tshirt she'd stashed here in the previous summer. Her stomach revolts at the thought of food, but she forces it anyway. There's crackers in the cupboard and peanut butter. She gets through half of one before she has to stop and force herself to mechanically chew and swallow, just like they taught her. No wasted food tolerated. She wants to vomit it back up. 

Moving to the couch she hears the ringing, this time she places it to her phone. She didn't turn it off and she didn't have the heart to leave it with Clint. She'd used it as a lifeline. _Follow me_ , the unspoken plea.

Stupid sentiment. 

She picks it out of her bag and throws it hard against the wall. It doesn't stop ringing. 

Grunting, she does it again. And again, and again; until she's out of breath and met with pieces of electronics strewn around her.

 _Sentiment_ , she snarls, and walks away.

.

Dreams plague her. 

Body given up, she'd dropped to the couch, curled in a blanket that smells like Clint, that still has, what she thinks is blood stains or sauce on the corners. Unable to keep her eyes open, she'd fallen into a restless sleep that gives her flashes of blue, the look of hostility and rage on Clint's face before he hit her again, but this time he doesn't stop, he kicks her prostate body as he yells at her and calls her a double agent, a turn coat, a spy. 

She awakens to a yell, that she recognises as hers and can't regulate her rabbiting heart or stop the tear that rolls from her eye. 

Anyone but Clint. 

Breathing heavily, she gets to her feet and finds the water filter, sips water and decides on the television. 

She finds the remote in the drawer and flicks it on. She's glad it's just adverts, and watches as the colours play across the screen, when it flicks over to Alice in Wonderland, she's pushed back into an uncomfortable wooden chair, back ramrod straight, and mechanically recites it along with the television.

"Who are you?" She says in time with the Caterpillar. 

"Well, I hardly know sir," she says in a perfect American accent. "I've changed so many times since this morning you see."

"I do **not** see." She quotes, breathing faster. 

Something is not right. And it's not that her mind has been taken and played with in the last week, it's that it was never hers to begin with. She continues, and the garbage her mouth is spewing is like being under his control again. "Explain yourself." She says to no-one. 

"I'm afraid I can't explain myself," says Alice, "Because I'm not myself you know."

She's almost hyperventilating, but she can't make herself stop. She has to continue. She knows the punishment for not knowing a line, for insubordination. 

"I do **not** know," the caterpillar smokes. She can smell the tobacco of the trainers around them, the smell that permeates from their clothing and it's clawing stench that hits her in the back of the throat. 

"I can't put it any more clearly, for it isn't clear to me." She recites. 

The breath that comes after is a wheeze, she's rocking and hitting her back on the couch and she knows she needs to break this, turn it off, but she can't. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she _knows_ , she was made to be controlled, to be a puppet. Hasn't this just been proven? So easily he took control of her. 

"You? Who are you?" comes the words unbidden from her mouth.

She misses the next line and it's reprieve in the present and punishment in the past, she picks up again and feels the lashes across her palms, a stroke for every line missed. 

"Oh dear. Everything is so confusing." she spits out. Her body slides from the couch, tangled in the blanket that smells of Clint, drawing her to the present and the room she's in, his smell not the stench of smoke, the softness of the couch, not the hard back of a chair. 

The television flicks again to ads and she released from the memory. Scrambling, she turns it off and runs into the bedroom, grabbing her gun and then moving quickly into the bathroom, backing into the corner and lowering herself down. Wrapping her arms around her body, she turns the safety off and holds it. 

Never again. They won't take her ever again.

.

3/

He’s pulled into consciousness, with his phone ringing. Tiredness an understatement. Whatever it is that is beyond fatigue is currently what he’s experiencing. He notices bruises in his arms that he hadn’t seen yesterday and hurts are making themselves known as he reaches to pick up the phone.

“Where are you?” Comes the gravelly voice. 

“Just outside the city, Sir.” He replies, looking around. 

“Is Romanoff with you?” Fury asks.

“She is, Sir,” panic stirring in his gut, when she doesn’t appear. 

“She needs to come in for mandatory psych evaluation and monitoring.” He states. 

Clint cringes, checking all the rooms and realises Natasha’s made a liar out of him. He scrunches up the note that has her safe word on it. He doesn’t know what it’s cost her to write it down but he does know this is serious. 

“Sir, we’re going to need some time.” He tries to keep the worry out but there’s a reason Fury is the director of Shield and is usually at least 3 steps ahead of him. 

“Where is she, Barton?” 

He doesn’t answer, busy packing up the safe house, turning off the water and generator. He’s aware of his smell as he looks mournfully at the shower as he locks the door behind him.

Fury takes his silence as non-compliance and reprimands as such. “Take care of her. If it gets too much; bring her in, like last time. We can get the team back together. Coulson’s funeral will be held when Loki is gone. You have a month.” He’s about to reply, as Fury hangs up. Of course, not one to mince words. 

He knows Fury has a soft spot for Natasha, has come to trust them both, affectionately calling them ‘his strike team’. Clint also supposes he wants them out of the way, Natasha’s status and presence has always been one of contention, and this, despite what she accomplished with the others; they’ll judge her. 

Fuck them. 

He needs to find her. He tries calling her cell phone. It rings out, but gives him hope that she at least has it with her.

He calls Maria, and confirms what Fury just said, and asks her for a favour to track Natasha’s phone. She tells him she’ll get back to him and he leaves, getting in the car and realizing he has no idea which direction to go. 

His phone vibrates with a message and picture of a location, **Montreal?** It questions.

He thanks all the gods that she's left her phone on, he's not sure if it's oversight or a plea. He'll keep calling until she picks up.

Clint knows where she’s going; St. Jerome. He messages back thanks, and gets driving. It’s 7 hours to get there, he’s about a day behind her. 

.

Clint rounds on the house, it’s in a turn of a court and he can see lights on inside. She’s there, she made it, she’s safe. Relief washes over him, he has no idea how she got here (and perhaps doesn’t want to). He parks the car and knocks on the door. When she doesn’t answer, he makes his way to back, follows the tree line and takes six steps to the rock that holds the key. 

He opens the back door and the puts it back in the rock and throws it back into its spot, grinning slightly when it hits the mark.

He calls her name tentatively, and makes his presence known, loudly placing his bag down and calling out again. She’s not in the lounge or the bed room and when he walks into the bathroom he finds her, backed into a corner, her gun in hand, tapping it dangerously on her head. 

The safety’s off. 

She hasn’t even registered his presence. 

He’s stuck. 

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Tasha?” He whispers.

He can hear her now, words on her lips, as he squats next to her. 

“I’ve got no strings, to hold me down,” she whispers, “To make me fret, to make me frown.” 

He moves closer to her, almost there, he tries her again, but no response as the gun tap tap taps to the beat. 

“I once had strings,” Natasha makes eye contact with Clint finally as she recites the words. “But now I’m free.”

“Tasha.” 

She looks at him with the saddest eyes, and points the gun at her head. Clint stops breathing.

“There are no strings on me.”

He reaches out, the request obvious. 

“No.” He says with finality. They’re in a holding pattern with neither of them breathing. 

When she lifts the gun off, he takes it carefully, switches the safety back on and slides it as far away from them as he can. 

“Who am I?” She asks, her voice small, her eyes searching his face. 

“You’re Natasha,” he tells her. “You are mine and I am yours.” 

He sits down next to her, holding her hand.

“You are no one's puppet, despite what your mind is telling you.” He sighs.

“You have fought long and hard, to be who you want to be.” And this is not fair, he doesn’t add. 

He pulls her closer.

He can feel her shallow breaths, laboured breathing, a wheeze that is incongruous with her usual stoicism and silence. 

He wonders what’s happened in the two days since he’s seen her, this further descent. He wonders if it were him, would it be any better? How would he be coping? What would he want someone to say, or do to help. 

He can’t think of anything. He’s lost his mentor, he can’t lose her too, it would end him. He’s filled with grief and fear of the what if’s that might even still be ahead. 

.

He carries her to the bedroom, placing her on the bed. She hasn’t spoken since but he hasn’t stopped, telling her the true things he knows about her, the way she likes food, clothes she likes to wear, down to the colours she likes. 

“Your hair is brown,” he comments. He sits behind her, legs astride and pulls her back so she’s leaning back on his chest. He starts by combing her hair with his fingers, and then pulls it back. He braids it slowly and carefully, until he feels her body relax against his. Checks her face, as sleep washes over her. He doesn’t trust it, doesn’t trust her to not leave him, but this time at least he’s more aware of her frame of mind. 

He kisses her crown gently, and cries softly to himself.

.

4/

Natasha watches as he systematically removes all the weapons in the house, down to the knives. Even his bow is placed in the trunk of the car. She acknowledges this, and goes back to bed. 

.

Clint's lost. When she was this low last time, he had Coulson, Fury, Maria, hell, he had the whole (reluctant) backing of Shield. He knew what to do. He tries to remember the lessons from the past and insert them into real time, but he feels he keeps making mistakes. She looks at him with unseeing eyes, and all he sees is blue, then she shifts and her eyes are green again. He doesn't know what that means. He doesn't know anything or even if it is real. 

.

She keeps getting stuck. Stuck in moments and forgets what she is doing, going, saying. But Clint's there pulling her back, finding ways to ground her. 

.

He calls Tony in desperation, asks if there is anything he can tell from the cube or Thor, and enquires how Selvig is going. Tony makes guesses, assumptions, but doesn't really know. He asks how Clint is going and passes the phone to Pepper when Clint has questions about Natasha, Pepper asks to talk to Natasha and it's the first time he sees her smile since the invasion. He loves Pepper and will forever be thankful. He's not alone in this.

.

The days pass slow, he realises they’re on a timeline and it takes courage to tell her that Fury wants a psych eval and it’s likely she’ll be out in mandatory therapy. She takes his words on board, nods and sits on the porch outside, knees curled to her chest. 

.

There are days she wants to disappear; run away. Clint tells her, he’ll find her. That there’s no place she could go that he wouldn’t come with. He doesn’t realise, she’s already in a place he can’t know, physically, though, she takes comfort in knowing he’s there.

.

He pays for food to be delivered, and he realises he hasn’t had her out of his sight in 6 days. He’s terrified of what he might come back to. He can count the number of words she’s spoken in that time. Sometimes he can see her eye the door, sees her pacing and knows she’s getting antsy. He tells her they’re here for the month. She can’t leave. 

.

She’s taken to having music on, sometimes it’s annoying the background white noise, but then, he thinks, he hasn’t been through what she has. So, he aims at being patient. He encourages it. Makes some themed days, and pairs it to food he cooks. He loves Italian themed days where he can make spaghetti and meatballs and he almost gets a smile as he imitates Pavarotti. He starts to get her to choose the music and he makes the food. On days where that’s too hard, he adjusts his expectations and plays the music a little louder.

.

She talks to him when the room is dark and she can’t see his face. It’s easier when she can’t see his reactions. She holds his hand and thanks him softly, she knows she may have made it to this point of her life by herself, but it would look very different. They talk of multiverses, alternate realities and what another Clint and Natasha might be doing at this moment. Clint jokes that they would have three kids and perhaps a wife, and she rolls her eyes at the absurdity. Despite all the darkness, she has faith in herself that she's strong. He just happens to show up at the right time, like someone sees the good in her and the potential she has in herself. She just needs to see this on the days where her thoughts get dark and her mind wanders into the 'what if'. 

She is not the sum of what's been done to her. 

.

He gives her back a gun and they shoot together. First with the left hand then with the right. It's as natural as breathing. The muffled shots ping on the tin cans and she can only imagine what the neighbors think. They're far away from them but even with silencers, the sound is loud enough for the pigeons to be scared out of the trees. Each shot is dead on, muscle memory allowing a calm mind and the only though to be _'breathe, aim, shoot'._ It's the most relaxed she's been all month. He gets his bow out, and they take turns with this too. She should know things are going too well, the day too calm and good. The nightmares come at night, the smell of guns permeating into her subconscious sending her back to her childhood. She wakes silently, eyes wide, breath held and sits up, like a shot he's up with her, asking her what's wrong and passing her a drink bottle to ground her. He never sleeps heavily and the guilt that she did that to him is another thing to add to the long list of apologies she needs to make. 

.

He builds her a picnic and takes her on a date. He calls it impromptu valentines, and gives her flowers from the garden and chocolates that they share together. Smiling is becoming easier, more free, and she notices that she becomes less stuck, in moments, in thoughts. He comments on the birds, and the wildlife and squeals when a spider gets too close. She looks down at the animal she was framed on, and gently moves it away, _second chances_ she muses as Clint looks on. They hold hands and walk home and it's as though New York never happened. 

.

5/

Healing starts, as most things do, with time and a commitment. 

It’s hard, committing in herself, trusting herself again after all the violation and grief. Clint offers suggestions tentatively and encourages anything that makes her leave the safety of their house. A trip to the shops, to the garden centre, to the coffee shop. Exercise helps and they start running together. Yoga on the days that the sky falls in, but the commitment to come back to herself is as strong as her will.

.

Small steps. Some days, tiny steps, but it comes. On days where the grief hits her from the moment she wakes up, she focuses on breathing, and when that comes without thinking, she focuses on self care, eating; drinking; bathing. On days that that grief is a quiet yawn, she appreciates the space and recognises it for what it is; reprieve. 

Clint can see these days she seems lighter, and pushes her a bit harder with recovery, makes her contact Tony or Pepper and see how they can help, give back. It’s motivating talking to them, Tony checks in with Clint; she’s not sure if she’s supposed to know about this but she knows he’s been helping Clint, taking a role she can’t fill. 

Clint plays cello music on his bad days, it’s not easy for him either; the loss of Coulson on his mind constantly. He’s talked in the dark of night about being faster, smarter and more steps ahead of Loki. She didn’t know what to say and just held his hand. When Loki was killing Coulson, what was she doing? Killing their own? She tells him later; when she’s thought on it and sees the darkness float behind his eyes, to not to do that to himself, to focus on the good, and that he was able to accomplish so much against gods and monsters. He takes it on board, and tells her to heed her own words, as he kisses her forehead. 

It takes time for her body to come back to her and the violations it had received to recede. It doesn’t go away though, it crawls beneath her skin, a sick feeling that ebs and flows with the day. She deals with it by taking control of what she can. This isn’t the first time that she’s had to reclaim herself, and she has certain mechanisms which have previously helped, it’s a lifetime of memories and trauma. At times it makes her melancholy, that she has to do it again. Make her body her own, again. She braids her hair into the tightest braids she can, her hair now longer and it’s something she can control. She relishes in the pull and the monotony of twisting the hair into shape. 

She takes some pride in making some bird feed and feeds the birds. Laughs for the first time she can remember when Clint goes running after some pigeons and trips over. He’s delighted his antics have resulted in some joy and that’s all they end up hoping for; little joys. She tells him as such and he kisses her cheek softly. 

There’s a cat that comes round, Clint says because of the now tame birds, so she feeds that too. It’s a black scraggly thing that looks like it’s fought hard to survive and it’s like seeing herself. It meows and hisses at her when she approaches so she observes it from afar (Clint jokes that it’s past her in cat form), smiles when it comes back again, eats the food she’s left out and lays on the deck, it’s now deemed as safe. If anyone approaches, it’s gone quicker than a gunshot. She does what she can to make its life easier, leaves water out constantly and a blanket for a bed. 

Clint mocks her when she asks if they can go to the hardware store to make it a shelter from the elements but he’s delighted to be asked to help and have a project they complete together. He shows her how to make a plan, pick some wood, drill and saw in straight lines and turn her idea into reality. She moves the unused blankets inside the opening and waits. The cat avoids it at all costs. 

Clint laughs at her disappointment and she calls the cat Liho, the old skinny woman that embodies misfortune, hissing back at it when it approaches. 

There’s a day where the sky falls in, literally. Rain pours, thunder strikes and she’s back in the clutches of men controlling her. She goes silent and stays in bed unable to cope with anything except breathing. Clint mills around her, worry, as dark as the clouds outside. He brings her food she doesn’t touch and water he puts a straw in and holds to her lips. It’s almost sunset when he comes to get her, ignoring their previous patterns of letting her sleep it off, wrapping her in a blanket , picking her up and carrying her outside in the rain. 

“Look.” He commands, tears in his eyes. 

The cat is in the shelter, green eyes meeting hers and closing again. Hers fill with tears as well and hugs Clint hard, hoping it conveys what she wants it too. 

.

It seems to be a turning point, but that would make all the work she’s done to this point seem easy.

Time does not heal all wounds. She knows this viscerally. 

It’s a point in time that she can look at and know that from this she learnt. Tony calls Clint, and they put him on speakerphone. Tony tells them gently that Thor is leaving with Loki, and asks if they'd like to be there when he leaves this world. She agrees immediately, writing down the location. He nods and tells the same to Tony. It’ll be the first time their all together again since the last supper and she’s apprehensive being around the others; wondering what they think of her. 

.

They pack up the safe house and begin the drive back into the city. It's mostly silent, as they are both lost in thought. Fury calls Clint in the car, and acknowledges her when Clint identifies they're both in the car. Fury tells her the time and date of her psych eval, and first therapy session. She sighs softly and Clint reaches over to squeeze her hand. Fury also tells them the time and place of Coulson's funeral, and this time, it's Natasha's turn to reach over and hold onto Clint's hand. 

. 

New York is not how they left it. The army is gone, and the roads are clear. A gigantic effort has gone into the clean up, but everywhere she sees flowers and memorials of those lost. She lets the grief wash over her, and focuses on the moment. They meet in a park of all places, and they all supervise Stark give the cube to Thor. Clint doesn't take his eyes off Loki and she leans over and jokes that he resembles the guard from Bosnia and Clint smirks. The blue flash takes her breath away and he's gone.

It's not how she thought she would feel. 

They say their goodbyes, Steve leaves on his motorbike and Banner and Stark leave gleefully together. Stark winks at her and gives a small wave of his hand, words unspoken. 

.

The Shield car takes them to the new Shield helicarrier, where Maria meets them. They nod at each other and she takes them to their new quarters. 

"It's good to see you," Maria says quietly, bumping her shoulder against Natasha's and leaving her and Clint in the sparse room. 

. 

She lies her way through the psych eval and is cleared easily. Fury rolls his eyes at the report and mutters about incompetence, before throwing it into the shredder bin. He tells her she's still to go to therapy and it's her turn to roll her eyes. 

Clint waits outside his office and walks with her til their standing outside on deck, the grounded helicarrier shut down for time being. 

"Ok?" he checks in. 

She thinks hard, not wanting to lie. 

"Getting there," she says. He pulls her into a hug, and they walk together back to their room. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> The section where Natasha taps the gun to her head whilst singing, is referenced in another fic, but i cannot find it to tag it here. Does anyone know it? I would also love to read it again!  
> Also, in case it’s confusing, within the Red Room, the children were exposed to Disney films to teach them English (Correct me if I’m wrong!), this references that. 
> 
> Thanks to @edgeofthegalaxy for the brainstorming and letting me know I'm on the right track. I'm very thankful for your brain. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love.


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